


Enemy of My Enemy, The

by spookyawards_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Medium Length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-14
Updated: 2003-09-14
Packaged: 2019-04-27 06:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14419215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyawards_archivist/pseuds/spookyawards_archivist
Summary: X-Files expertise is sought from an unusual corner, and Mulder and Scully review their work and relationship from a new perspective.





	Enemy of My Enemy, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Spooky Awards](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Spooky_Awards), and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [SpookyAwards' collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/spookyawards/profile).

 

Enemy of My Enemy, The

## Enemy of My Enemy, The

### by FoxProse

**TITLE: THE ENEMY OF MY ENEMY**  
**AUTHOR: FOXPROSE**  
**RATING: NC-17**  
WARNING: Descriptive sex. Smut warning. **CATEGORY: MSR**  
KEYWORDS: Angst, Jealousy  
DISCLAIMER: Enough problems with real people in my life, let alone fictional characters. They belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting.  
FEEDBACK: Please! Send to SPOILERS: Very mild for Tooms, 2Shy, Hungry, Dreamland, Bad Blood  
SUMMARY: X-Files expertise is sought from an unusual corner, and Mulder and Scully review their work and relationship from a different perspective. 

AUTHOR'S NOTES: As always, many thanks to Donnilee for her fast and fabulous beta as well as her encouragement. Thanks, too, to Daniel G., for elucidating the minutiae of the Israeli army. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**FBI HEADQUARTERS**  
**X-FILES OFFICE**  
**WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**

The voice mail light was blinking on Mulder's phone when he and Scully returned from lunch. He punched in his access code and was rewarded with the impatient voice of Assistant Director Walter Skinner. "I need you and Scully in my office this afternoon at 2 PM. On time. " The hang-up click was so loud that Mulder flinched. 

Great! He and Scully had taken a mere 45 minutes to eat and relax outside in the atrium today, and their reward was a snippy message from their boss. Nothing to be done, Mulder thought. 

"Skinner wants us in his office at two," Mulder announced to his partner, who was opening the door after making a detour to the restroom. 

"Any idea what he wants?" Scully asked with a hint of suspicion. She trusted Mulder with her life - too frequently, as a matter of fact - but she also knew he had an incredible capacity for ticking off their superiors. 

"I didn't do anything! I swear!" He held up his hands in mock protest. 

"Okay, well, maybe it's a new case," she suggested hopefully. 

"Can't wait. The cases that come down from the top are always beauts," Mulder ruminated sarcastically. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**FBI HEADQUARTERS**  
**AD SKINNER'S OFFICE**  
**WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19, 2 PM**

Scully, the responsible and punctual member of the team, had hurried Mulder along to make sure they were on time. She started her campaign at 1:30 PM. Mulder thought that her efforts seemed a lot like nagging, but he was willing to overlook it as a sign of nervousness. He knew Scully hated meeting with Skinner when the agenda was a mystery. 

They entered the outer office, Mulder's hand on the small of Scully's back. This gesture had begun innocently years before, but it had quickly segued into an excuse for him to touch her. To her chagrin, Scully found herself constantly waiting, waiting, waiting for his touch. Kim, Skinner's administrative assistant, knocked once on the inner door to his office and opened it. "Agents Mulder and Scully are here, Sir," she announced formally as they entered. 

In addition to Walter Skinner, who had been seated at his desk, were two dark-haired men in their early forties. One was wearing civilian clothes, the other a dress military uniform that neither Mulder nor Scully immediately placed. Mulder was inclined to be suspicious of anyone from the military, any military, showing up unexpectedly to meet with him. He was on his guard as he studied the men. 

Skinner stood to formally present them to the visitors sitting in chairs in front of his desk. "Special Agent Fox Mulder and Special Agent Dana Scully," Skinner gestured toward them to clarify which was which. "Agents, I'd like to present Colonel Gavriel Ben Or, representing the Israel Defense Forces, and his colleague, Captain Nael Ibrahim, of the Palestinian Authority CID. Colonel Ben Or and Captain Ibrahim requested a meeting specifically with you to discuss an issue of the utmost sensitivity." Both men stood to shake the agents' hands. 

Extra chairs had been positioned in front of Skinner's desk, and they all took their seats. Ibrahim spoke first, his formal, British-influenced English in keeping with the stylish sport coat and slacks he wore. "Mr. Mulder, Dr. Scully, you are probably surprised to find yourselves in a meeting with members of the IDF and the PA." He smiled as if he found it fairly amusing himself. "This is usually something only your President and National Security Advisor are honored with," he paused again for Ben Or to chuckle at this quip. "However, my friend, Colonel Ben Or and I find ourselves in need of your expertise. We researched your methods and cases before leaving home and managed to pull a few strings in order to take up some of your valuable time." 

Mulder listened to this introduction with a neutral expression. He feigned a relaxed posture, but his muscles were tensed as he evaluated the two men seated before him. He attempted eye contact with Scully, but her attention was focused exclusively on the visitors. 

Scully was captivated by these two enemies who were seated so companionably by Skinner's desk. She noticed the looks that flashed between them from time to time as well as small cues in their body language that bespoke a level of comfort and informality between the two. 

Ben Or, wearing a dress uniform, picked up the thread. "You see, we've recently experienced a series of crimes in several of our cities that are...unusual." 

"And of all the law enforcement agencies that deal in 'unusual', you just happened to pick ours," interrupted Mulder in a cynical tone that set Scully on edge. 

Gavriel Ben Or leaned forward toward Mulder and rested his hands on his knees. "Mr. Mulder," he stated in an authoritative voice, "you may rest assured that nothing done by the IDF 'just happens.'" He paused to allow for a moment of dramatic silence, his unblinking brown eyes focused on Mulder. Ben Or knew the reputation of the IDF in Washington, and he had seen and done too much personally to be intimidated by some FBI pipsqueak, even as smart, necessary a pipsqueak as this one. He leaned back, secure that his point had been made. 

Mulder met the Colonel's eyes and held them. He started to open his mouth, but Skinner foresaw danger and cut him off. "Gentlemen," he said peevishly, "let's talk about why we're all here." He shot a silencing look at Mulder that everyone in the room noticed. 

It was rare to see Fox Mulder chastened. In fact, Scully reflected, she'd never actually had the privilege. She'd seen him hurt, depressed, discouraged, angry...a whole laundry list of emotional states. But she'd never seen him squashed quite as quickly or completely as he was by Colonel Ben Or. Would there be hell to pay later on or would he take the loss of this pissing contest with equanimity? She decided to move things along. "Maybe you could tell us a little about these...unusual cases," she prompted. 

"Of course," answered Ibrahim. "You must forgive our circuitous style. It is a bad habit of my people, and now we've got the Jews doing it, too." Ben Or smiled, and Ibrahim continued. "Approximately six months ago, we experienced several unusual deaths in Ramallah. I am responsible for supervising the investigation of criminal complaints. In all three cases, the victims lived on the margins of society. One, a female, was a prostitute. The other two were young men with drug problems. The bodies were found relatively close to the time of death based on body temperature and witness accounts. However, all three appeared to have had most of their soft tissue...dissolved...or sucked out, for lack of a better description. 

"Unfortunately," he continued, "our situation is such that we immediately suspected a biological weapon of some sort. We spent a lot of effort reaching the right people in Hamas, Hizbullah, and Islamic Jihad, but we became convinced that these deaths were not connected with any political activity. Eventually I brought the cases to the attention of certain friends within the IDF. I did not seriously believe the Israelis were developing such a weapon, but I am afraid mutual suspicion makes anything seem possible." 

Scully's mouth opened to form a questions, but she was cut off by Colonel Ben Or. 

"About two months before Captain Ibrahim contacted us, we had also experienced two unusual deaths in the suburbs of Tel Aviv. Like the Ramallah victims, both were outsiders. One was a known drug addict and the other was a Russian immigrant who had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. These victims had originally been thought to have contracted some kind of viral agent, but when no other cases appeared, the local health authorities lost interest. 

"When Nael and I began to compare notes on the circumstances, we realized that the deaths formed a pattern and that many of the medical inconsistencies had never been explained, including the actual causes of death." 

Ibrahim continued their story. "By this time, we assumed that we were dealing with a serial killer, a killer who exploited the tensions between our peoples to avoid detection. But when we arranged for additional testing of the tissue samples taken from the remains, more questions were raised than answered. We are told that an unusual enzyme seems to be at work. Gabi and I are not scientists, so we must rely on the interpretations of others." He paused his narrative to withdraw a manila folder from a slim leather portfolio that leaned against his chair leg. He turned and presented it to Scully with two hands. "Dr. Scully, perhaps we could impose on you to review these results in light of your own experiences?" He smiled winningly at her. 

Yes, indeedy, thought Mulder cynically. These boys had done their homework. He noticed that they had begun to refer to one another by first names somewhere in telling the story, and Ibrahim seemed well briefed on the fact that Scully, not Mulder, was the pathologist. He also noted sourly that both men seemed to have charm to spare, and an ample dose of it was being directed straight at Scully. 

"I'd be happy to," Scully responded, "but I'll need some time. Will you be in Washington long?" 

"Until Friday morning," answered Ben Or. "Then we'll be taking a shuttle to New York. We return home on Sunday. Dr. Scully, we cannot emphasize how much we would appreciate your help on these cases." 

"Since it is already afternoon," suggested Ibrahim, "perhaps we could meet later tonight. You would have time to review the file, and we would very much like to repay the hospitality your government has shown us." 

Mulder was opening his mouth to decline when Scully pre-empted him. "That sounds interesting," she accepted, smiling. "Mulder, that wouldn't interfere with your plans, would it?" 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**FBI HEADQUARTERS**  
**X-FILES OFFICE**  
**WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**

Mulder had stalked back to the office without speaking to Scully. He allowed his longer stride to put distance between them, and punctuated each action with angry forcefulness. 

"Well, I'm glad you taught the elevator a lesson," commented Scully when she caught up with him in their office. "I'll bet those buttons light up right away now that they know you're on the case," she continued, referring to the savageness with which Mulder had pressed the basement button. 

"Leave it alone, Scully," he snapped, giving her a look that said he wasn't joking. 

"Mulder, what on earth is the matter?" She sounded softer now, confused as to what was making him so angry. 

"Nothing. Nothing is the matter. And if it is, maybe you could get together with your new friends to investigate. They seemed to think the sun rises and sets on you. I hope you didn't accidentally bite Ibrahim's hand, the way you were eating out of it." This was Mulder at his sarcastic worst, and Scully simply sat down and closed her eyes, waiting for the storm to pass. 

He had said enough, Mulder decided. He hung up his jacket, sat down at his desk, and began punching away at the keyboard. Scully sat quietly, reading the case files the men had given her and making notes. An hour ticked by, and Mulder was beginning to regret his behavior. Scully hadn't said anything since his outburst. In fact, he couldn't even hear her breathing although she was sitting not more than six feet away. 

Suddenly she replaced the papers in the case file folder, stood up, and crossed to the telephone. "I'm sorry I didn't consult with you first about helping Ben Or and Ibrahim. I assumed you would be pleased to see our work validated by someone outside our government. I'm going to call them to cancel our meeting tonight," she said tersely, afraid that Mulder would erupt again. 

"It's okay," he said sullenly, not looking at her. "You don't have to cancel." 

She was incredulous. "Mulder, you can't be serious. You were furious an hour ago. I don't know why, but if it makes you uncomfortable, we'll just get out of it. I can write up a review of their findings so we don't seem like complete jerks." 

"No. Your instincts were right. We should go," he sounded a bit more pleasant now but would still not meet her eyes. 

"O.K.," she replied, still trying to sound nonconfrontational. "Just let me call Colonel Ben Or to   
find out where we should meet them." 

"Dammit, Scully! Stop talking like that. You sound like a hostage negotiator or a kindergarten teacher!" 

She smiled. "Gee, I always thought of kindergarten teachers as being both the hostage negotiator and the hostage." 

Scully's little joke loosened the oppressive atmosphere that had been choking him, and Mulder laughed more heartily than was really warranted. He was relieved that she'd offered him an 'out' from his bad mood, but he also knew that he wasn't off the hook yet. She would poke and prod him until 'fessed up to the true reason for his truculence. Problem was, he wasn't sure precisely why he'd been such a bad sport about working with Ben Or and Ibrahim. All he could account for was a profound dislike for both men that had nothing to do with who they were or what they wanted. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**FOX MULDER'S CAR**  
**WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**  
5:50 PM 

"You know, we can still cancel this if you're uncomfortable," Scully said with a note of concern as she climbed into Mulder's car. Whatever had agitated her partner earlier seemed in abeyance, but she wasn't buying it quite yet. 

"Nope. I just got ticked off by Ben Or. These IDF guys are so damned arrogant. I worked with a couple of them on a case involving an Israeli national when I was first with the Bureau. They're all hotshots and happy to let everyone know it." 

"Yeah. I can imagine. Working with arrogant guys who think they have all the answers can really suck sometimes," she responded. The corners of her mouth lifted just slightly. 

Mulder was distracted by the traffic and his own thoughts. He didn't catch the irony in her voice. "And that Ibrahim guy isn't much better. Jeez, could he have tried a little harder to lay on the charm? And maybe you could have waited, like, two seconds before melting? I thought I was going to have to scrape you out of your chair in Skinner's office!" 

"Oh, Mulder, you're overreacting. I know these guys come off as very savvy about American culture, but they're Middle Easterners. Small talk and flattery are more important there." 

"Well, I checked out Ben Or while you were working on the files. Very impressive credentials. Military experience up the wazoo and every kind of law enforcement training you can imagine. Went to Field Intelligence School, Counter Terror School, and I forget what else. He probably thinks we're complete wusses," Mulder reported. Scully detected the slightest note of bitterness, a tone that someone less close to him would never have noticed. 

She thought for a second about how to respond. She had forgotten about Ben Or's put-down at the meeting, but now she was getting an inkling of why Mulder was so unenthused about this confab. 

"I couldn't find out as much about Ibrahim," he continued, "but he appears to be one of those guys who plays both ends against the middle. He's got family all over - in Jordan, the U.S., England - and he seems to have an awful lot of powerful friends for a local cop from the West Bank." 

"Do you think either of them are connected with the Consortium?" The words came out fast, the only clue to her nervousness as she contemplated this scenario. 

"Nah. I think they're probably here for something else and decided to take a few more days of vacation by stringing us along. I don't think they'd come to the Bureau because of their tremendous regard for our investigative skills." Mulder's sarcasm made another appearance. 

"Maybe it's not about coming to the Bureau. Maybe they're coming to us. And we just happen to be with the Bureau." 

"Yeah, maybe," answered Mulder, but he sounded unconvinced. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY CONFERENCE CENTER** **WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**  
6 PM 

Ben Or and Ibrahim were waiting in the lounge at the Georgetown University Conference Center, the Marriottrun hotel where they were staying. They were seated at a small round table in a corner when Mulder and Scully spotted them. Ibrahim took sips from a glass of amber liquid with ice, and Ben Or was nursing a bottle of micro-brewery beer. They were speaking Hebrew and seemed to be sharing something unspeakably hilarious. Ibrahim motioned to the two agents, who crossed the room to reach the table. 

They sat down as a waitress approached. Scully ordered wine. Mulder asked Ben Or for his opinion of the beer and ordered the same. 

True to her word, Scully had carefully read the case files and had prepared a few pages of her own notes. She started a prim recitation of the forensic evidence, but neither Ibrahim nor Ben Or had any intention of letting her become immersed in a quagmire of scientific data. Ben Or led the offensive this time. "Dana," he asked with a smile, "may I call you 'Dana'?" 

"Um, alright." She sounded very official and not terribly pleased. Mulder felt a small surge of pleasure that Ben Or's charm wasn't working quite so well now. 

"Dana, please call me Gabi-it rhymes with 'Bobby', what do you really think happened here? We don't need you to read the report to us. We need your experience and intuition. Have you seen anything like this before?" Ben Or paused for no more than a second and added, "Or you, Fox?" 

"I'd just as soon stick with 'Agent Mulder,' if you don't mind," Mulder said coldly. 

"As you wish," replied Ben Or smoothly. 

Trying to cover the awkwardness, Scully put down her notes and began describing some of the cases she and Mulder had worked on together. She pulled from her memory the relevant details of cases such as Eugene Tooms, Virgil Incanto, and Rob Roberts. Mulder felt himself swell with pride as his partner presented the cases from a scientific perspective. If he'd been telling these stories, he would have sounded like a lunatic, but Scully managed to make each mutant description seem perfectly plausible. "One of the things that strikes me," she added, "is that the killer is deliberately selecting victims whose deaths will attract little scrutiny." 

Mulder drew on his beer as conflicting emotions warred. He was inordinately proud of Scully's ability to control this get-together. He was proud of how their cases sounded coming from her mouth. But he also felt like more of an outsider than ever. He was used to feeling like an outsider at the Bureau; that didn't bother him too much. He had never felt that way with Scully, though, and he felt stung by how truly little he was needed here. 

Ben Or and Ibrahim seemed to be tripping over themselves smiling at Scully, expressing amazement at her case histories, and focusing on her eyes as they asked questions. Mulder allowed himself to 'zone out' slightly for a few minutes, since neither Scully nor her admirers were soliciting his contributions. 

"You definitely want to take into consideration the security issue," Scully was answering when Mulder tuned back into the conversation. 

"The fact that the UNSUB can easily pass through checkpoints without arousing suspicion may be critical in narrowing our search," agreed Ibrahim, and then turned to Mulder. "You have no opinions? What we've heard about Agent Mulder suggests that's unusual." 

"Oh, don't mind me," Mulder drawled sarcastically. "Sounds like the brilliant and beautiful Dr. Scully has it all figured out. Not much I can add." 

"Another round," suggested Ibrahim, whose eyes once again met Ben Or's. 

"I'm surprised you drink, actually," observed Mulder, as chilly as ever. 

Ibrahim threw his head back and laughed. "Oh no, I am not so 'dati'-religious-as Gabi." He reached over and ruffled Ben Or's hair, and Mulder and Scully noticed for the first time a black knit yarmulke buried in the curls. 

Ibrahim's joke seemed to amuse Ben Or, who responded, "Oh, well, the Imams didn't have a chance with you. You were too busy stealing oranges." 

"I have to admit I'm somewhat surprised to find officers from the IDF and the Palestinian Authority so friendly, " commented Scully, no longer attempting to hide her curiosity. 

"Now that is an interesting story," said Ibrahim, leaning over his drink conspiratorially. "As interesting as one of your X-Files even." Mulder and Scully both flinched at the familiarity these two men displayed with the inner workings of their assignment. 

"We grew up together," Ben Or told them. "Nael's grandfather was a major orange farmer, and he used to hire some of us kids who lived on the local moshav - it's similar to a kibbutz. We became friends there when we were twelve or thirteen, and we've found it ... useful ... to maintain our friendship in spite of the circumstances." 

"Yeah," said Ibrahim, again laughing. "He only loves me because I can provide an armed escort into his favorite falafel stand in Ramallah." 

"That falafel stand shut down years ago," joked Ben Or. "And it wasn't that good anyway!" 

Egged on by Scully's display of interest, Ibrahim and Ben Or continued telling stories of their youth: the stolen oranges previously alluded to, a hiking trip when they were teenagers, Ibrahim's supplements to Ben Or's army rations. Although neither had consumed more than two drinks, their relaxation had almost manic overtones, as if this social interlude must be squeezed dry to extract all possible pleasure and enjoyment. 

Scully excused herself to go to the restroom. The two men again exchanged looks and became immediately serious. 

"Listen, Agent Mulder, I think maybe you are offended that we have paid so much attention to your partner. I assure you, we are both happily married and neither of us would want you to think our attention was inappropriate," stated Ibrahim, his eyes boring into Mulder's, his voice putting excessive emphasis on 'Agent.' 

Ben Or continued, "Dr. Scully is, like you said, beautiful and brilliant. I can understand you probably have to defend your territory often." 

Mulder, who felt he had kept his dislike of these men under excellent control, finally snapped. "I am not 'defending territory,' gentlemen. Agent Scully is the most competent, hard-working agent I've ever partnered with, and your innuendos are insulting to us both." He had become loud enough to attract a few glances from nearby tables, but he didn't care. 

"You mean, you're not...?" asked Ben Or in an incredulous whisper. 

"So..." replied Ibrahim knowingly. 

Scully reappeared to find Ben Or and Ibrahim with their mouths still open. Mulder was standing, removing his keys from his pocket. "Scully, I'm going to get the car. Why don't you wrap up with the desert squirrels here, and I'll meet you at the entrance." He strode off without a backward glance. 

"I...I'm sorry," she stammered, wondering what Mulder had done this time. "I don't know what got into him ... I can assure you the Bureau wants to assist you with this investigation as much as possible." 

Ben Or waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "No need to apologize, Dr. Scully. Agent Mulder has...his own perspective." 

"But I have some advice. Do you want to hear it?" asked Ibrahim, smiling raffishly and tilting his head to accentuate his sensual eyes. 

Scully laughed. She couldn't say no. "Okay, sure. I guess. What's your advice?" 

"Your Agent Mulder: I think he feels ... superfluous. That maybe you are now an accomplished pathologist and investigator and you no longer need him. You should tell him that you are proud of him, proud of his work but also proud of him as a man." Ibrahim continued to look at her soulfully. 

Whatever Scully had expected, this wasn't it! "Oh, we've worked together for six years. We understand each other completely," she responded, caught off guard by such personal advice. 

Now Ben Or spoke. "You know, Dr. Scully, there is a joke we tell. It goes like this: If one man tells you that you're drunk, perhaps you should slow down a bit. If two men tell, maybe you should stop drinking. But if three men tell you that you're drunk, it's time to lie down." He smiled, and Scully tried to think what this joke had to do with her or Mulder. 

"What Gabi means is that we're both telling you this - me and Gabi," Ibrahim explained, "and you should take seriously what we say." He laughed again. "After all, how often will you get a Palestinian and an Israeli to agree? You take our advice, and it will be like making a little peace!" Ibrahim finished his explanation with a broad gesture, and both men laughed. 

Scully was truly flustered for the first time in quite a while. She was amused by the Middle Eastern willingness to barge right into her business. She was also unnerved by how much they seemed to know - both factual information about the X-Files and personal observations about her and Mulder. She gave them business cards along with offers of future assistance, said her good-byes, and left the lounge as quickly as her legs would carry her. She was still thinking about their advice when Mulder pulled up. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**FOX MULDER'S CAR**  
**WASHINGTON, DC**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**  
8:20 PM 

"I'm sorry, Scully." Mulder was apologizing before she could swing her legs into the car. "I don't know what got into me. Were they really pissed?" he continued to badger as she buckled her seatbelt and settled down in the seat. 

"No. It's fine, Mulder. Don't worry about it." Scully heard her voice, calm and easygoing, and wondered why she wasn't tearing him to shreds. But she wanted more time to think, and she wouldn't be able to think much if she spent the rest of the evening sniping at him. 

"You want to come up for something to eat?" Scully asked as they pulled up to her apartment. "I don't know about you, but I didn't get dinner before we left for the hotel." 

Mulder apparently viewed this invitation as evidence of forgiveness and eagerly accepted. He parked in a visitor space and made his way up to Scully's apartment, his hand once again in its usual place on her back. 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT**  
**GEORGETOWN**  
**WEDNESDAY, JUNE 19**  
9 PM 

Scully warmed up some leftover chicken. Along with a salad and some instant rice, she produced a simple, lovely meal in about twenty minutes. Mulder had set the table at her request and then retired to the couch with a can of iced tea. 

"Okay, dinner's ready," she announced as she transported the steaming dishes to the table and began serving. 

"This looks great. Thanks for doing this. I'd have probably just grabbed a taco or something on the way home," he said, trying to summon as much enthusiasm as possible for the meal. He wanted to make up for his earlier behavior. 

"That's why I did it. Both of us eat too much junk, and most of the time we don't even enjoy it while we're eating it," she said with a smile. 

"Yeah, we're starting to develop grown-up tastes. Pretty scary, huh?" 

"Yup. But the ultimate sign of middle age will be when you get a recliner," she teased. 

"No way! Never happen! Recliners are completely uncool." He paused, then smiled. "Unless they're the ones with the built-in remotes and drink holders and stuff." He looked to see her reaction. 

"Ugh! Mulder! Don't even think about it!" she snorted, spilling a bit of her iced tea. 

"All right. Fine. I won't get a recliner. But it'll be your fault when my back gives out from falling asleep on my couch. I won't be able to chase vampires any more, and you'll have to do it all by yourself," he told her in mock resignation. 

They finished their meal, and Mulder helped clean up. They continued to joke about the recliner, Scully suggesting that maybe the 'recliner fairies' would pay him a call. They segued into spirited repartee regarding whether a central 'fairy dispatch' handled both waterbed and recliner fairies. 

Mulder left around 10:30 PM, and Scully decided to call it a night. She fell asleep wondering why he would care about her opinion of recliners. What difference did it make whether she liked his decorating choices? 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**  
**DANA SCULLY'S APARTMENT**  
**GEORGETOWN**  
**SUNDAY, JUNE 23**  
3 PM 

Mulder was back, ostensibly to get her signature on a long-overdue report, but really just to hang out. In fact, neither of them spent too much energy anymore making up excuses to spend time together on weekends. The excuses were getting weaker and weaker. Just last week Mulder dropped by to share a magazine article he'd found interesting. 

A few years ago, Scully had been careful to let Mulder initiate all the non-workday activities. It wasn't that she was a 'Rules Girl' trying to reel him in like a prize-winning bass. But she'd had difficulty determining when he wanted solitude and when he needed company. She didn't want her overture interpreted as a come-on, and she sure as hell didn't want him to feel sorry for her. 

But last year, at a particularly low point, she picked up the phone to suggest pizza and a video. He had been obviously pleased to hear her voice and seemed thrilled by her meager offer of food and entertainment. He'd worn a smile on his face for almost a week, and Scully realized that a 'lone wolf' was often a lonely wolf, too. Now she initiated quasi-social activities herself from time to time. 

Mulder sat cross-legged on the floor, pawing through her video collection. He claimed to be searching for his copy of 'Bowfinger,' but he was really fishing for an invitation to stay. She knew this, and he knew that she knew. But they hadn't quite brought themselves to admit the truth: That each felt wrong and out of kilter without the other. 

Scully had been thinking about the advice she'd received from their two unlikely Middle Eastern counterparts. What had they seen that prompted their advice? Except for a brief phone call and the few minutes she was in the restroom, she and Mulder had been together along with them. Had God sent them to give her a message, wondered her mystical, religious streak? 

What would it hurt to take their advice? Maybe she did take Mulder for granted too much...everybody needed praise and affirmation. A thousand voices in her subconscious memory-most of them belonging to self-help and new age authors on book tours-urged her to tell Mulder how much he meant to her. 

"Mulder, can I tell you something kind of personal?" she asked in a purposely casual manner. 

He looked stunned and slightly afraid, suspecting that anything she deemed 'personal' couldn't be good news. "Uh, yeah. I guess," he stammered. 

"Well, it's just that it's so easy to take the people in our lives for granted. I mean, after everything that's happened to us in the past few years, we should know more than anyone that, well, the future is uncertain. I just want you to know how much I've learned from you, how much I admire you - not just as an agent, but as a man - and how proud I am whenever I'm with you." Her words came out in a tumble, more breathy than usual. She looked down, embarrassed by the sheer amount of emotion she had uncapped. 

Mulder didn't speak, and there was a moment of silence. He leaned forward so far his nose was almost touching the spot where his ankles crossed. For a split-second, she wondered if he was ill. But his body seemed to be shaking. At first she thought he was laughing. No, that wasn't it. He was sobbing! Quietly, but still ... Scully had never seen him wracked by sobs before, and she was mortified to have been the cause. 

Mulder moved fast, unwinding from his sitting position and darting into the bathroom. He kept his face turned away from her. She heard a few more heart wrenching sobs before he turned on the water. 

She desperately wanted to go to him, to apologize for upsetting him, but she suspected this would only make things worse. He couldn't stay in her bathroom forever, could he? He emerged, finally, but she could see the telltale evidence of his tears. His face was red and shiny from scrubbing he'd just given it. 

"I'm sorry, Scully. I didn't mean to flake out on you like that. I guess I just wasn't expecting it," he apologized as he sat down on the couch next to her. 

"It's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry if I said something that bothered you. I just wanted you to know I appreciate you," she said softly. 

"No, no ... it's my fault. I always do this. I get fixated on something I want, and when I finally get it, I don't know what the hell to do with it," he explained as though he were talking to himself. 

"What do you mean?" she asked. 

"What you said about being proud of me? That means more to me than ... anything." His eyes were again wet, but he won this round with his tears. 

"I'm surprised. I know you respect me and what I bring to the work, but I always pegged you as pretty self-sufficient." 

"You really don't get it, do you?" He shook his head in defeat. 

"I'm not sure," she answered, this time with hesitation. 

"I'm in love with you. That's why I care about what you think of me. That's when I knew I loved you - when I started worrying about it," he sounded tired, beaten-down. 

Was she surprised? Shocked? Oh, maybe a bit. But not really. They'd been doing this dance for years. First moving closer, then moving apart, and then closer again. Three steps forward and two steps back as the years rolled on. It was inevitable. If not now, when? If not in her living room, where? 

Scully touched him first. She used her index finger to wipe away the traces of moisture from his eyes. She traced his lips while he took shallow breaths, and then cradled his face while she tilted her face to kiss him. He was responding, she noted with relief, afraid that she'd somehow misunderstood and was making a terrific fool of herself. 

Her mouth opened slightly, and their tongues met, sending an electrical charge through them both. There was no returning to the status quo. They could not pretend that this had been a just a friendly kiss. This was a bodice-ripping, wetness-inducing, arousing prelude to sex. 

She pulled away and stood up, holding his hands in hers and pulling him slightly toward her. "Make love to me?" she invited, and he bounded up, following her into the bedroom or wherever she chose to lead. 

Despite years of fantasies featuring a naked, insatiable Scully, Mulder was surprised to find how very, very much he liked her taking the initiative. She slowly undid the two buttons on his polo shirt, and pulled it over his head with the accompanying tshirt. She unbuttoned his jeans and eased them over his hips along with the long-line briefs he'd recently started wearing. 

"Hm... no more boxers?" she asked, pretending to be petulant as the knit underwear snagged on his erection on the way to the floor. 

"I didn't know you had a preference in my underwear, Agent Scully," he retorted with a grin. 

"Well, it'll take some more research, I think, before I can submit a recommendation," she teased. 

He was working on the buttons of her man-tailored shirt now, wondering why they made the damned things so tiny. She helped him, and then slipped off her jeans and panties in a single motion. She pressed her body against his and moved slightly, offering some friction against his cock. One hand reached around to stroke the muscles in his ass and pull him even closer. 

"Really?" he asked. "You're not doing this because..." He didn't finish the sentence; so many awful possibilities loomed. Maybe this was a pity fuck, after all. She'd only said she admired him, was proud of him. He was the one who had mentioned love. 

"Because I love you, too, and I've wanted this for a long time," she answered firmly, trying to scatter the demons of his insecurity. 

They moved onto the bed, their limbs tangled together, touching all the spots they'd each dreamed of, feeling strangely uninhibited. Scully's previous sexual experiences had always involved meeting the real or imagined expectations of her lovers. This time, though, she felt free and confident. Mulder's past had made him as wary and suspicious during lovemaking as he was the rest of the time, but with Scully, he relaxed and gave himself completely. 

He entered her, and Scully suddenly comprehended the argument against casual or even not-so-casual sex. To make love with a man who loved you, who would stand behind you no matter what ... it was nothing like the couplings she'd experienced with college boyfriends, with Daniel, with Jack. 

She'd always felt nervous about sex in the past. She'd blamed it on her Roman Catholic upbringing. But now she knew that it wasn't religion that had left her with doubts about her attractiveness and her bedroom technique. She had simply gone to bed with the wrong men: They didn't fit. Mulder was different. Like a favorite pair of jeans or an old sweatshirt, he fit her perfectly. It wasn't about size-he was over a head taller and outweighed her by 80 pounds. It was the way the angles of his body matched perfectly with her curves. His rhythm, his breathing ... everything meshed as if they'd been made to fit together. For the first time, she felt truly at home in what seemed like a new, more brazen body! 

She could tell that he was trying to last, trying to make this good for her. That was nice, but she wanted the sensation of power that would come from making him lose control. He was close, she could tell. Now, to push him over the edge... 

"Mulder, would you be...offended...if I told you...I fantasize...about you...all the time," she punctuated her sentence with throaty whimpers as the speed of his thrusts increased. 

"Oh, God...Scully!" She moved to reposition her legs on his shoulders, allowing him to penetrate deeper. His movements picked up speed, and she dug her short fingernails into his shoulder blades as his words disintegrated into a series of unintelligible syllables. 

"Yeah," she continued, "I have this fantasy...at the office...you bend me over your desk...and fuck me senseless." She was panting now, and Mulder squeezed his eyes tight. 

"God, Scully, you're gonna make me come. I can't last..." 

"In my fantasy...I'm wearing stockings...you lift my skirt and..." 

This image was too much for him, and Mulder slammed into her four final times, filling her both with the thick ejaculate of his physical satiation and with the pent-up emotions of the past five or six years. 

She had been engrossed in watching him, focusing on his pleasure alone and enjoying her control as she brought him to a peak of arousal. But the sight of his face, his eyes closed tightly as she forced his orgasm, must have affected her more than she realized. He ground his hips into her one last time, creating a slow friction, and she felt her nipples harden and her muscles contract as waves of her own climax lazily washed over her. 

He slid to her side and buried his face in her hair. He was uncharacteristically quiet for a few minutes. He lifted his head up, his expression serious. 

"Okay?" he asked tentatively. 

"Better than okay," she replied with a smile. 

"No regrets?" he queried further. 

"No, Mulder. No regrets. You?" 

"Are you kidding? I meant every word I said...about being in love with you." 

"I love you, too. So see? It's all worked out. We're going to be fine with this, Mulder." She spoke firmly and confidently. Scully knew her partner, knew that he was imagining a hundred possible problems with their new intimacy. When it came to 'borrowing trouble,' she reflected, Mulder had a charge card with a high limit. 

He found the remote control on the bedside table and they tuned in a tennis tournament that neither cared about. They pulled the comforter over themselves and dozed. 

As they drifted off to sleep, Scully heard the faint roar of a jet overhead. She thought suddenly of Gavriel Ben Or and Nael Ibrahim, who would be flying home by now. Perhaps God _had_ sent them ... 

She closed her eyes, and uttered a silent prayer for the peace of Jerusalem. 

**THE END**   
  


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